


Celebratory Snogging

by scorose



Series: Take Me to Outer Space [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, F/M, Gryffindor, Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Jealousy, Party, Snogging, Weasley twins, bet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26793976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorose/pseuds/scorose
Summary: “Oh?” said Fred, casting him a conspiratory sideways glance. “And who are you snogging, then? In the spirit of Oliver Wood’s wet dreams?”George takes a bet. Things go surprisingly well.
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/Fred Weasley, Angelina Johnson/Lee Jordan, George Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Take Me to Outer Space [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961131
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Celebratory Snogging

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knaps_docx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knaps_docx/gifts).



> Many thanks to Sarah ( **knaps_docx** ) for being such a lovely human being to critique my writing and also motivate me when needed. She is much more than a beta and every word I write is dedicated to her!
> 
> The idea for this story came to me in a dream and I had to run with it.

“Alright, Fred?” George asked, clapping his twin on the shoulder. 

“Alright, George,” Fred replied, winking. He was clutching a mixed drink in one hand, a concoction of his own making that was shimmery black in colour and smelt heavily of cherry and a rather foul gin; his other hand was shoved deep into his trouser pocket. He was grinning, awash with the joy from their Quidditch Cup win - as were all of his Gryffindor teammates. A party had raged in the Gryffindor common room for several hours now - streamers and banners of scarlet, loud conversation and cheer, and a Weird Sisters record playing on the tinny sounding phonograph in the corner. Everyone was in great spirits, eating, drinking, and being merry; as was Fred, on surface level. But his twin knew better. Fred’s eyes had been glued to the corner Angelina Johnston and Lee Jordan were holding up for the past half hour, and George could see the strained edge to his brother’s smile. 

“Might be time to step it up there, mate,” George commented casually, swirling his frothy glass of butterbeer. 

“Yeah,” Fred agreed mildly, taking a long drink. “‘Cept Lee’s all over that now, ‘innee?”

“Pfft,” George scoffed, nudging Fred’s shoulder. “I know a lost cause when I see one. Lee’s always mooned over her. She’s being friendly… nothing more.”

Fred shrugged, taking another long drink.

“Don’t be such a tosspot,” George said, hoping his words would rile his twin up; he hated seeing Fred so negative. It wasn’t like him. “We’ve beaten Slytherin for the Cup Oliver’s final year as captain - this is the stuff of his wet dreams! If ever there were a time for… for celebratory snogging, tonight’s the night!”

“Oh?” said Fred, casting him a conspiratory sideways glance. “And who are you snogging, then? In the spirit of Oliver Wood’s wet dreams?”

“I’m… in the market, as it were,” George replied, casting his eyes about the common room. “Er… d’you think Granger would —”

“Stop!” Fred cut him off, true grin returning to his face as he laughed. “Ickle Ronnikins would get his feelings hurt. ‘Sides, she’s likely off somewhere with her favourite copy of _Hogwarts: A History_.”

They shared a laugh. “Where’s Katie, then?” George ventured. 

Fred leveled him with an incredulous stare. “Off snogging _Wood_ ,” he said, then smirked into his cup as he took another sip. 

“ _Bollocks_ ,” George swore, scratching the back of his neck. He eyed a short brunette standing at the table of sweets and drinks near the fireplace. “Her?” he suggested in undertone, jerking his head in the girl’s direction. “She’s… a fourth year, yeah?”

“Byrne, I think, yeah.” Fred confirmed with a nod. “Mandy.” He cast a cursory glance over her and shrugged. “She’s fit,” he conceded, adding, “nice arse,” with a smirk.

“She’s not, y’know, _with_ anybody, right?”

“Wouldn’t know - nothing comes to mind, anyway,” Fred said, draining his black concoction. After a beat, he nearly spit his mouthful back out; grinning, the mixture dripping down his chin, he shot George a look that was positively evil. “A galleon says you won’t just go snog her.”

“Come again?”

“Don’t just go chat her up, or whatever it is you like to do,” Fred said, waving his hand dismissively, as though he found the idea of chatting a girl up to be ridiculous. “Just walk up and plant one on her.”

“For a galleon?” George asked, hiking an eyebrow. 

“ _And_ you get to snog her,” Fred reminded him. 

“Five galleons!” George argued. “And I get to say hi at least, first.”

Fred rolled his eyes. “Three, you ruddy pillock, and the greeting of your choice. Now get a move on! I hear there’s nothing like a good, celebratory snog after a tournament win.”

“Piss off.”

George sighed and shoved his drink cup into Fred’s free hand. Squaring his shoulders, he approached the girl, coming up to stand beside her at the table set up with snacks and drink; she had just taken a bite of a bacon crisp, and she turned her head to look at George as he settled next to her, hip resting against the edge of the table. She offered him a smile as she chewed; he returned it, as he hint to summon an aloof sort of charm to mask his nerves. He saw her throat contract as she swallowed; feeling Fred’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head, he decided it was now or never.

“Mandy?” he tried in a quiet rush. 

“Mm, Maggie,” she corrected, squinting up at him; he stood at nearly a foot taller than her. 

“Lovely,” George heard himself blurt out, and then he leaned down and crushed his lips to hers. 

He felt Maggie’s gasp of surprise against his lips, and nearly pulled back out of embarrassment, but in the next second her tiny hands were clutching at the front of his shirt, tugging. _Score_. Satisfied he’d secured three galleons, George wrapped an arm around her waist, reaching the other hand up to tangle in her hair; using his grip, he angled her head slightly to deepen the kiss. Maggie sighed into his open mouth and George felt a rush of heat go through him. The ambiance of the party around them faded away until there was nothing but her and her bloody delicious lips. 

Bloody _hell_.

Maggie’s hands were fisted in George’s shirt collar, holding him to her; he felt her tongue make a few experimental swipes at his lower lip. She tasted like bacon. She kissed him greedily, like she didn’t want to stop, not even to come up for air. Her hip was round in George’s grasp and he gave it a light squeeze, fingers spasming at the heady sensation of kissing her. He let out a helpless groan from deep in his chest and broke off the kiss, lungs screaming for air. Maggie’s lips chased after his; she blinked up at him dazedly, brows furrowed in confusion. 

George pressed his forehead to hers, panting. He dropped the hand tangled in her hair to encircle her waist with his other arm. She absently fingered at his shirt collar, blue eyes studying his face. “What was that for?” she asked after a moment, voice husky. 

“Er… celebratory snog?”

Maggie shrugged, to his relief, and offered him an impish grin. “You’re welcome to come find me again, should the urge strike,” she told him, reaching a hand up to his cheek; he allowed her to drag him down for another kiss, winding her fingers into his hair and tugging just hard enough to produce another groan. 

The two resurfaced again several moments later, as if coming up from underwater, and George vaguely began to register calls for them to “Get a room, Weasley! Byrne!” Maggie offered him a rather dazzling, sheepish grin as she dropped her hold on him and stepped back almost regretfully. 

“See you around, Weasley,” she said, running a hand gently down his arm as she left him by the fire - his skin erupted in gooseflesh - and crossed to where her friends waited for her, Cheshire grins on their faces, at the foot of the stairs leading to the dormitories; the two other fifth year Gryffindor girls waved Maggie over impatiently, clearly waiting to pump her for details the moment they were out of earshot. 

“See you,” George echoed faintly, scrubbing his hand across his jaw. He turned to search for Fred, whom he found now seated in an oversized armchair, gazing at him with an expression of disbelief. Behind him, Lee Jordan hovered over the chairback, and he reached over Fred’s head to hi-five George as he approached. 

“Absolute legend!” Lee crowed. “How’d you manage that?”

“Just sort of… went for it,” George replied, still feeling slightly dazed. He smirked at Fred. “Good looking out, mate.”

“Sod off,” Fred snapped in reply, looking cross. 

“Not without my three galleons,” George said; he couldn’t help himself, his adrenaline rushing, from gloating. As Fred dug begrudgingly into his pocket, George asked Lee, “So where’d Angelina run off to?”

“Up to bed,” Lee replied. “Tired out from the match, I expect.”

“You lot put her off with your unruly snogging,” Fred groused in correction, dropping the gold coins into his twin’s outstretched hand. George eyed Fred knowingly. 

“Anytime,” he said with a wink. “Think I might follow her lead,” he added after a moment. “Good snog really takes it out of you, y’know? Night, gents.” He clapped Fred on the shoulder and headed up the stairs to the sixth year boys’ dormitories, a spring in his step. 


End file.
